


Redamancy

by dubu_dubu



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avengers Family, Domestic Avengers, Established Relationship, Intersex Loki, Loki's Kids, Mpreg, Multi, POV Multiple, Thor: The Dark World
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:03:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1215382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dubu_dubu/pseuds/dubu_dubu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki and Thor have not had the easiest of marriages.  Things do not get any less complicated when Loki wanders into a strange realm and encounters a powerful parasitic force known as the Aether.  With Asgard under attack by Malekith and his forces, Thor sends Loki and their two sons to the safest realm he knows: Midgard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redamancy

Loki woke to a strange buzzing in the air.  He opened his eyes and saw an indistinct shape climbing up the nearest bedpost.  When his vision focused enough for him to see the intruder clearly, surprise and then alarm yanked him roughly from the last shores of sleep.

The creature was an insect about the length and width of his thumb.  Thin, electric blue stripes ran across it glossy black abdomen which was tipped with a long, needlelike barb.  Aligned along its midsection were three pairs of iridescent wings that glimmered in the weak morning light.  It took no notice of Loki as it paused to clean a few drops of moisture that had along its antennae.

It was a wasp—a Jotun ice wasp to be precise.  Loki was familiar with the foul little creatures from his childhood on the ice realm.  Like the other native fauna of his homeland, ice wasps were vicious and volatile when provoked.  Their stings could even penetrate through tough Jotun skin, and they possessed venom potent enough to incapacitate a full-grown Frost Giant with excruciating pain.  Among children, ice wasp stings were potentially fatal.

It was this last detail that compelled Loki to act.  Carefully, he cast a net of protective magic over himself and the small child slumbering beside him.  The weight of Loki’s spell dulled the boy’s senses and eased him deeper into his dreams.  According to Thor, Jormungandr was too old to be sleeping in his parents’ bed chamber, but with his father off-realm, he routinely snuck into his mother’s bed at night.  Loki hadn't had the heart to turn away his youngest and did not care that Thor would chide him for this indulgence when he returned.

Thor’s irritation was the least pressing of Loki’s current concerns.  The wasp on his bedpost finished grooming itself and sprung into the air.  Fortunately, it flew away from Loki, weaving in a drunken path to the far side of the room.  It landed on the rug near the hearth, upon which laid the source of the noise that had woken Loki.

An entire ice wasp nest was melting on the rug.  Dozens of its bewildered denizens clustered around it, scrambling to salvage the wreckage of their home even as it rapidly disintegrated.  They appeared disorientated, their movements jerky and unbalanced.  Loki figured it must be the drastic change in climate that was causing their confusion.  Ice wasps, fierce as they were, did not fare well in the presence of heat.  And Asgard, which was awash in the glow of perpetual summer, was not a suitable environment for their species.

From his bed, Loki eyed the struggling creatures both covetously and warily.  On one hand, ice wasps had many useful magical properties.  Their venom was an essential stabilizing agent for some of the advanced potions in Loki’s spell books.  There was also likely to be a small stash of honey within the nest.  While the bitter substance was toxic to most Aesir, it accelerated healing and sharpened the senses of those with Jotun blood.

Beside Loki, Jormungandr let out a soft sigh.  Loki curled his body more tightly around his son, who snuffled contentedly into his mother's night shirt and then stilled once more.

As much as Loki wanted to capture the wasps and raid the contents of their nest, he was unwilling to risk any chance of harm befalling his child.  It was common knowledge that Jormungandr possessed neither his father nor his brother’s robust health.  Every year, the boy’s list of intolerances grew more and more extensive.  These days, a mere whiff of fey flowers was capable of triggering a wheezing fit, and he couldn’t eat half the things on his sibling’s plate without breaking out into hives or swelling like a poked pufferfish.  The poor child had nearly passed out at Frigga’s last birthday feast after a bite of bilberry pie had caused his throat to close up.  Everyone had flown into a panic, thinking the boy had been poisoned when in actuality, the fault belonged to an inexperienced serving girl.  Furious, Loki had turned her into a brilliant white ermine and set the hounds after her.  The dogs had chased her all the way to the edges of the palace grounds when Thor finally rescued the terrified woman and forced Loki to change her back.  The incident still served as a vivid reminder to the palace staff that they should remain ever vigilant of their youngest prince’s health.

Loki did not know if Jormungandr would be able to withstand a sting from an ice wasp, but he had no intention of finding out.  He needed to extract himself and his son from the room without attracting the attention of the wasps.  This was easier said than done; Jotun ice wasps were sensitive to seidr.  Any spell too powerful would draw their notice and their ire.  Loki would have to act quickly and stealthily if he wanted to remain undetected.

He was still in the process forming a viable exit strategy when there came a sharp knock on the door.

“Mother!”

Loki's heart grew leaden with dread upon hearing his firstborn’s voice.  As usual, Fenrir had woken early and come to seek out his brother for play.  Being neither a patient nor still child, he pounded insistently on the large, heavy doors of Loki’s chambers.

Riled by the abrupt noise, the wasps on littering the ground buzzed angrily in warning.  Fenrir, unaware of the danger that awaited him on the other side, began to push the doors open.

“Mother!  Mother, are you awake?  Is Jormungandr in there with you?  I can’t find him in the— Woah!“

He yelped in surprise when Loki slammed the doors shut with a panicked surge of magic.

Startled by the sudden noise and movement, the wasps took to the air.  They raced towards Loki, targeting the source of the seidr that they had sensed.

Unable to come up with a better option, Loki set the rug on fire.  He drew the flames from the dying embers of the hearth, feeding it with his magic until it flowered explosively.  Fire gushed into the room in a red wave of heat **,** incinerating the rug, the nest, and all the wasps in the vicinity.  Before it could spread to the rest of the room, Loki flicked his wrist and the flames came to an abrupt stop.  Slowly, he curled his outstretched hand into a fist.  The fire followed the movement and condensed, morphing into a tight ball of green smoke. 

Loki relaxed his hand and let the smoke expand.  It filled every corner of the room and brushed the ceiling with its green tendrils.  As Loki's command, it searched throughout the room for any wasps that might have escaped the inferno.  The only place its green tendrils did not reach was the center of the bed where it billowed harmlessly around Loki and his son, thwarted by the shimmering barrier Loki had drawn up around them.

Through the smoke, he heard people banging violently on the doors.  A distressed male voice called out, “Your Highness?  Your Highness?  Are you alright?”

The last rotation of the night watch must have realized that something was amiss.  The doors groaned and rattled as they tried to open them, but Loki had sealed them shut with magic.

Ignoring the frantic guards, he checked to make sure that every single wasp was dead.  When he was certain the room was entirely cleared of danger, he began to dissolve the smoke.

A loud blast erupted from the hall.  Loki felt his seal shatter.  The doors flung open and half a dozen gold-cloaked Einherjar poured in, swords and shields raised at the ready.

“Your Highness?  Your Highness?  Where are you?”  Their vision obscured by the lingering haze, the guards fumbled around until they doubled over, wracked with coughs as smoke corroded their lungs.

Loki rolled his eyes.  Even with all their elite training, the Einherjar were rendered useless by an amateur spell any street magician could conjure.  Clearly Odin did not recruit his men for their tactical expertise.

“Don’t worry yourselves.  I’m not dead,” he said dryly.  He opened the balcony windows with magic and banished the rest of the smoke outside.  As the last wisps dissipated, three canine forms—a wolf pup flanked by two enormous deer hounds—darted into the room, bypassing the still sputtering guards.

“Mother!”

Fenrir leapt onto the bed.  There was a flash of blue, and when Loki caught him, he was once more a lively five-year-old boy.

“Mother, are you alright?  The guards were angry that you locked the doors.  Why did you lock them?  Did something happen?  Were you attacked?”  Fenrir wrinkled his nose.  “It smells like burning in here.  Was there a fire?  What happened to the rug?”

Instead of answering the barrage of questions, Loki diverted his son’s attention by asking, “Fenrir, where's Agata?”

At least the boy had the decency to look guilty.  “She’s still sleeping…  I think…”

Loki sighed.  As thrilled as he was that both his children had proven themselves adept at magic, Fenrir had a habit of using his abilities to thwart his nanny.  Loki doubted that the old woman even knew that her charge had disappeared.

“You know you shouldn’t be wandering the palace alone,” he admonished.

“I wasn’t alone,” his son insisted.  “Geri and Freki were with me.”

Upon hearing their names, the two hounds beside the bed wagged their tails.  Loki was glad the beasts had the sense not to climb on the bed and join their master.  He was not fond of dogs himself, but Odin had gifted the pair to Fenrir upon his third birthday.  As pups they had been as big as housecats, but now, they even rivaled some of the foals in the royal stables in size.  Encircling their necks were thick golden collars emblazoned with crest of the House of Odin.  When Loki focused his seidr, he could see the silvery-white threads of the All-Father’s magic woven into the metal, revealing that the dogs were not truly dogs.  They were more likely powerful living enchantments that Odin had shaped and bound to will.  This explained why Fenrir, despite his ability to sneak past servants and guards alike, was never able to shake off Geri and Freki.  Not that he would want to.  Fenrir was—in Loki’s opinion—exceedingly fond of his canine companions.

Before Loki could properly scold his son, the Einherjar, who by now had regained their bearing, approached him with worried faces.

The captain of the watch stepped forward and removed his helmet.  He looked younger and decidedly less impressive without his headgear.

“Your Highness,” he said.  “Have you been hurt?  We heard a noise from the hall and grew fearful when you did not respond.”

“I am perfectly alright.  No thanks to any of you,” Loki replied icily.  “Tell me, are all of Asgard’s finest so easily incapacitated by elementary magic?   Or is it just you lot?”

The Einherjar were at least smart enough not to answer that question.  They merely returned Loki’s stern disapproval with sheepish silence.

Loki gestured to the blackened part of the floor where the rug had been.  “While you and your men were dawdling outside, an entire nest of Jotun ice wasps somehow made its way into my room.  I dispensed of them before they could cause any real trouble.  Otherwise, you would have two dead royals on your hand and a lot of explaining to do.”

The captain paled.  His men looked equally disturbed by the news.

“I want to know how they got in here,” Loki said.  “Someone must have smuggled them in during the night.  Sweep the room for any breaches and check the perimeter wards to see if they have been tampered with or broken.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the captain said.  He and the rest of the guards bowed and quickly dispersed.

“Mother, why isn’t Jormungandr waking up?”

Fenrir was bent over his brother, prodding him in the face.  Loki had forgotten to undo the sleep spell he had put on the younger boy.  He lifted the spell, and immediately, his second son began to stir.

“Wha—what’s ha-happening?” Jormungandr said with a tremendous yawn.  He rubbed his eyes which were still hooded and heavy with sleep.

Fenrir poked him sharply in the ribs, prompting his sibling to let out a squeak of surprise.  “You and Mother were in danger and you slept right through it!  Aren’t you embarrassed?  You're not even supposed to be here in the first place!”

“Mhmmm…”  Perhaps due to his familiarity with his brother’s penchant for exaggeration, Jormungandr remained unperturbed by this news.  He yawned once more and burrowed deeper into his warm cocoon of blankets.

Annoyed, Fenrir shifted back into a wolf and pounced on his brother.  Jormungandr gave a cry of protest and swatted at his sibling, but Fenrir was relentless.  He continued to harass the younger boy, tugging and chewing on the ends of his hair.

“Mother!” Jormungandr yowled.  “Make him stop!”

Loki, though, was not helpful in the least.  “You’ve slept enough, love.  It's nearly time for breakfast.”

Fenrir yipped in agreement.  Jormungandr hissed at him irritably.  His pupils contracted, narrowing into slits, and a pattern of scales rippled across his skin.  He dove underneath the covers, illuminating the darkness briefly with the sapphire glow of his magic.  Fenrir tried following but his brother was able to outmaneuver him.  Loki spotted the now serpentine silhouette of his second son slithering away under the blankets.

Fenrir resurfaced just as Jormungandr tumbled off the edge of the bed.  The younger boy was human again when he hit the floor, and while he was better at conjuring clothes than his brother, he only managed a shirt before he was off and running.

Fenrir changed back as well and did not even bother to attempt clothing himself.  Naked as the day he was born, he rolled off the bed with a fierce battle cry and started to chase his brother around the room.

As his children played, Loki observed them with a mixture of curiosity and affection.  For as long as he could remember, he had been taught to use his seidr carefully.  Magic, his instructors had always believed, was to be handled like a sword, kept sheathed until a time of need and wielded only with the utmost precision and care.  Reckless magic was dangerous magic.

Loki's children, however, did not have such a restrictive outlook on their abilities.  Their attitude towards their own magic was much more blasé.  Although Loki provided occasional guidance, he largely let his sons’ abilities grow unfettered.  As a result, Fenrir and Jormungandr were sometimes able to accomplish feats of sorcery far beyond their meager years.  However, they were occasionally sloppy with their spell work.  Fenrir, in particular, was easily distracted and often forgot to finish what he started.  At the moment, he was so caught up his pursuit of his brother that he didn’t even notice the bushy tail still lashing behind him.

“Fenrir, tuck your tail,” Loki reminded.

His son stopped in his tracks and looked at his rear end in confusion.  As soon as he had banished the extra appendage, he set off once again after his brother.

Loki winced as the boys careened into a table, knocking down a silver pitcher and empty water basin.  He really shouldn’t let this go on any further.  If left unchecked, his sons would happily would tear the room apart.  They were more destructive than any fire he could conjure.

As Loki got out of bed, Fenrir caught up with his brother, tackling the other boy to the ground.  Fenrir, who was bigger and stronger by far, quickly had Jormungandr pinned by the wrists.

“Ha!” he crowed, his face flushed with triumph.  “Gotcha!”

Jormungandr stopped struggling but did not concede defeat.  Instead, he looked up at Fenrir, grinned—an unsettling mirror of the expression Thor got right before he was about to smite something—and unleashed a bolt of lightning into his brother’s smirking face.

The other boy shrieked and fell back.  Thor’s children—being Thor’s children—were relatively impervious to electricity.  But judging from the way Fenrir clutched his face, the assault still stung.

“Jormungandr!” he howled.  “No lightning!  _You promised!_ ”

He looked towards Loki, hoping his mother might take his side.  Loki had to stifle a laugh.  He could not take Fenrir’s outrage in earnest, not while his son sulked at him with singed eyebrows.

“Mother!”  Jormungandr ran back to Loki, who knelt and scooped the small boy up.  He buried his face in his mother’s hair and sniffled piteously, as if he were the one who had gotten blasted in the face with lightning and not his brother.

“What are you upset about, you silly goose?” Loki chided.

“He scared me,” Jormungandr accused with a teary hiccough.

Loki patted him comfortingly on the back.  “I'm sure your brother didn’t mean to scare you.  And it was not very nice of you to use that lightning trick on him.”

Jormungandr mumbled something unintelligible into the side of Loki's neck.  Before Loki could decipher his son’s words, the entrance of his chambers opened once more.  His handmaids had arrived.

It was a testament to how well-bred and unflappable the three women were that they barely glanced at the Einherjar swarming the room, the large, charred spot on the floor where the rug had been, or the two children, one of whom was entirely naked and slightly smoking from the tips of his hair and the other whom was bare-assed and weeping in his mother’s arms.

Instead, Dagmaer, the leader of the trio, turned her attention to Loki and asked, “Your Highness, would you prefer to take breakfast here or in the Great Hall?” 

 

* * *

 

Fenrir and Jormungandr’s respective caretakers were summoned and the two boys escorted out of Loki’s chambers.  Knowing that he had incurred the wrath of his nanny, Fenrir shot his mother a pleading look as he was led away, but Loki only offered him an unsympathetic smile in return.

Agata, who was incensed at having been duped again, wasted no time scolding the boy as she dragged him away.

“You naughty child!” she exclaimed. “Do you know how long I fussed over your double before I figured out it wasn’t you?  And where did your clothes go?  I swear, your father never gave me half this much trouble.”

Geri and Freki trotted faithfully behind their master but were careful to give the irate woman a wide berth.

Loki remained behind to deal with the Einherjar.  When their investigation concluded, the captain of the watch gave Loki his bleak assessment.

“We found no evidence of a break-in.  All the wards remain intact and I have spoken with every guard on duty last night.  No one saw an intruder come or leave your quarters.”  He had the deference not to look Loki in the eye when he added, “We have also not found any trace of the creatures of which you spoke.”

Loki did not like what he was insinuating.  “I burned all those wasps to ash.  If I had waited for you to get in here, both my son and I would have been attacked.”  He narrowed his eyes.  “Are you suggesting that I’m _lying_?”

“Of course not, Your Highness,” the guard replied hastily.  “But we cannot guarantee your safety if we have no idea what we are dealing with.”

“I have told you exactly what we are dealing with,” Loki insisted crossly.

“Yes, but we cannot proceed without more concrete evidence.”  He cleared his throat.  “Also, if I may say so, Your Highness, strange occurrences have happened around you before, and they merely turned out to be side-effects of your, erm, condition.“  His eyes dropped briefly to Loki’s stomach.

Loki bristled, knowing exactly the incident to which the Einherjar was referencing.

During both of Loki’s pregnancies, his seidr had fluctuated wildly, occasionally wreaking mayhem on his surroundings.  Once, while Loki was carrying Fenrir, he had inexplicably and very suddenly set fire to a roasted boar right as it was being presented at the high table.  Thor had thought the entire affair very funny and joked that if Loki had preferred the chicken, he could have just asked.  Loki had not been amused and neither had Volstagg, who had mourned the waste of such fine meat.

“ _I am not pregnant_ ,” Loki ground out, resisting urge to the hex the captain’s helmet full of bats.  “I know what I saw this morning and it was not some random flight of fantasy!”

“If it would make you feel more at ease, we can provide you with a fully armed escort until the matter has been resolved,” the guard offered.

That was the last thing Loki wanted: an entire retinue of inept men clanking around in armor as they monitored his every move.  “Absolutely not.  I refuse to suffer such prolonged harassment.”

“Perhaps then, we should speak to the All-Father,” the captain proposed.  “Surely, he can provide us with an appropriate course of action.”

Loki found this idea even more mortifying.  If Odin thought his walking Jotun peace treaty was having fits of hysterics, he would send Huginn and Muginn to investigate, and Loki did not have the time or patience to dodge those pesky feathered spies.

Also, if Odin was worried about Loki, Thor would worry as well.  And out of the two, Thor’s paranoia was much more troublesome.  While he was likely to believe Loki’s story, if Thor felt his family was being threatened, Loki would not only have Einherjar shadowing his every move, Sif and the Warriors Three would likely become involved as well.

No, that would be unacceptable, Loki thought.  Better to handle everything himself than be babysat by Thor’s friends.

“If you wish to keep your tongue inside your skull, you will not breathe a word of this to the king."  The Einherjar might be sworn to serve Odin, but judging from the poorly concealed fear on the captain’s face, Loki’s wrath was as persuasive as loyalty to the crown.  “If the All-Father inquires about what happened, you will tell him that one of my spells reacted badly and that there is nothing to concern himself with.  In the meantime, I want extra guards added to the rotation that patrols near my children’s rooms.”

“What about your quarters?” the captain asked.

Loki drew himself to his full height, and leveled the Einherjar with a disdainful glare.  “I can handle myself.”

The captain looked like he wanted to challenge this assertion, but his will buckled under the power of Loki's scorn.  “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Good.  Now gather your men and get out.”

Dismissed, the captain and the other guards filed out the door.

Once the last of the men had left, Dagmaer, the most senior of Loki’s handmaids, asked, “What was that about?”

Loki scoffed.  “Asgardian incompetence as usual.”

Knowing his temperament, his handmaids took no offense.  Instead, they ushered him to the dressing room where they set about disproving his bleak assessment of their countrymen.

The sisters Pyra and Vedis attended to the tedious business of sorting out Loki’s hair.  Through the centuries they had served him, they had developed a highly efficient routine for dealing with Loki's abundance of hair.  First, they unwound the braid he wore to sleep.  Then, they worked through the thick locks with fine-toothed combs, diligently untangling any knots that might have formed during the night.  Lastly and most laboriously, they twisted and looped the long black tresses into an arrangement fit for public view.  Meanwhile, Dagmaer poured fresh water into a basin for Loki to wash his face and readied his outfit for the day.

Since the three women hardly needed to any instruction in their duties, Loki usually read while they worked.  When he did not occupy himself with a book, he often asked them to regale him with the current palace gossip.  His handmaids were keen observers of court life, and their reports had frequently proven valuable.

Today, however, Loki did not feel like reading or chatting.  Instead, he brooded in silence over the perplexing conundrum of the wasps in his bed chamber.

At first, he had been inclined to think that the creatures wer part of a botched assassination attempt.  Upon reflection, though, there were many more effective ways to kill Loki that did not involve ferrying such volatile cargo.  Ice wasps were not reliable tools for assassination, especially not on Asgard.  If Loki and his son had not provoked them, they would have eventually perished in the heat.

What truly puzzled Loki, though, was the nest.  Ice wasp nests were constructed entirely out of thin sheets of frost.  How did the intruder manage to keep such a delicate object intact while sneaking into Loki’s room?  It was possible the intruder used a spell to keep the nest from melting or breaking, but any trace of unfamiliar seidr in Loki’s rooms would have tripped the wards and alerted Loki and the guards.

It troubled Loki to think that someone might have been able to outwit his wards.  He and Frigga had personally designed the enchantments surrounding his quarters so that they would respond quickly and malevolently to any unfamiliar magical signatures.  If the intruder had employed magic at all, he or she should be writhing in pain nearby with a face full of angry boils.

It was a truly vexing set of circumstances and try as he might, Loki couldn’t wrap his head around a reasonable explanation.  It was like the wasps and their nest had dropped directly from Jotunheim into his chambers.  But that was utterly absurd.  Things did not just disappear from one realm and reappear in the other.  The only time Loki had ever heard of such an odd occurrence happening was during the—

Loki sucked in a sharp breath as he was hit was a dizzying realization.

“ _The Convergence_ ,” he whispered.   He couldn't believe he had overlooked such a simple, obvious answer.

“Pardon?”  Vedis paused, her hands still full of hair.

Loki did not reply, his mind already racing down a list of things to do in order to confirm his theory.  He should visit the royal library.  Its holdings were vast and there had to be something useful there.  Also, the chief librarian was a good friend and could give Loki access to the archives.  If the last Convergence occurred five thousand years ago, that would place it during the reign of Bor.  The Archives might have some Asgardian documents from that period which chronicled the event.

“Are you two done yet?” Loki asked, impatient.  He hoped his handmaids were not attempting anything overly ambitious today.  He didn’t want to waste time sitting at his vanity when he could be doing research.

“Almost,” Vedis answered.

In the mirror, Loki noticed something peculiar glittering in her sister’s hand.

He frowned.  “What is that?”

“This?” Pyra tried to obscure the item in question behind him.  “Just a hair pin, Your Highness.”

“Don’t play stupid with me.”  He turned and snatched the object from her grasp.

It was indeed a hair pin, but not any of the ones he usually wore.  This one was made out of silver that twisted and flowered into the shape of a snowflake, the tips of which were decorated with seed pearls and diamonds.  It had to be dwarven-made **.** Only the dwarves of Nidavellir possessed the ability to shape metal like spun glass.

“Why this one?” he demanded.  His handmaids had a literal treasure trove of jewels and trinkets to choose from.  He rarely had any objection to the items they selected, but he had never worn this particular pin before.  It belonged to a set of items he had specifically ordered locked away.

Pyra and Vedis hesitated in answering, trading shifty glances that only further riled Loki’s suspicions.  In the end, it was Dagmaer who cleared her throat and confessed.

“We heard Prince Thor would be returning from off-realm today,” she explained.  “We thought he might enjoy seeing these on you.”

Loki scowled.  The snowflake pins were a gift from Thor on their most recent anniversary, a date which Loki still vehemently insisted wasn’t a real anniversary considering the fact that the two of them _were no longer married_.  However, he hadn’t been able to drive the point into Thor’s thick skull, and the stubborn idiot had still presented Loki with a gift, a gift that no matter how admittedly beautiful Loki had thrown into the vaults to be forgotten.

“I won’t wear it.” Loki tossed the pin onto the vanity in a sulk.  “Find something else.”

“But, Your Highness,” Vedis protested.  “That was the last one.  We’ve already put in the rest.”

“Exactly how many are there?”  Loki had never bothered counting.

“Fifty,” Pyra replied evenly.

“ _Fifty?_ ” Loki turned his head and gazed into the mirror.  His handmaids had set his hair in an elaborate braid, the entire length of which was woven with glittering snowflakes.  The largest were arranged in a circlet that hugged the back of his skull, the fire of the diamonds brilliant against the deep black of his hair.

“It will take a long time to redo everything,” Dagmaer told him gravely.

“A _very_ long time,” Pyra added.

Vedis nodded solemnly in agreement.

Loki glowered at them.  He sometimes forgot how crafty his handmaids could be.  After all, Frigga had handpicked them.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Finish your work, but do it quickly.  I have important business that cannot wait.”

Vedis and Pyra nodded and returned to work.

Dagmaer coughed in a less than subtle manner and held up a matching diadem with a hopeful smile.

“ _No,_ ” Loki snarled.  He had to draw the line somewhere.

She set down the sparkling crown with a disappointed sigh.

 

* * *

 

Against the protests of his handmaids, when he declared decent, Loki skipped breakfast entirely and headed straight for the royal library.

It was a long trek—the library was a separate building adjacent to the palace's western wing—but it was early enough in the day that Loki could walk the main halls without being accosted by any courtiers or nobles.  He was in no mood to deal with Asgard’s simpering lords and ladies, who, for some bizarre reason, always wanted to engage him in idle chatter.  There was only so long Loki could listen to some boorish high-born peacock prattle on about the loveliness of the weather or the joys of child-rearing before he felt the compulsion to stab someone with an icicle.  Fortunately, the only people Loki ran into were servants and Einherjar; the former smartly ducked out of his way as he passed, and the latter left him blissfully alone.

It was the weekend which meant that the library was closed to the general public and only registered scholars and those with scheduled appointments were allowed in.  Loki was not a scholar and he had no appointment.  However, he was considered a member of the royal family and therefore could come and go as he please.  Since he was a frequent visitor, the two guards stationed near the doors recognized him immediately, bowing deeply as they let him pass.

While Asgard’s royal library did not possess the majestic grandeur of Valaskjalf or the solemn sanctity of the Hall of Science, it was still an impressive sight to behold.  Sunlight filtered through the glass ceiling of the immense atrium, flooding the tables below in a warm, golden glow.  At the center was an immense marble fountain topped with a bronze statue of a leaping stag.  In the bottom pool, clusters of white lilies floated upon the water.

The most notable and unique features of Asgard’s royal library were the ancient strangler trees that grew from beneath its foundations.  Long ago, the architect had decided that instead of going through the trouble of uprooting the plants, he would leave them be and let them integrate themselves into the building.  Now, several millennia old, the trees rose through the floor and climbed up the columns.  Their spidery branches vaulted the ceiling, adding essential structural support that had saved the library from earthquakes that had leveled other buildings.  In early spring, the trees blossomed with delicate purple flowers that saturated the entire place with their lush perfume.

For Loki, the royal library was easily his favorite place in all of Asgard.  As a child, he had dodged tutors, servants, and guards alike within its labyrinthine corridors.  Squirreled away among the seemingly endless stacks of books, he had been able to escape into the lives of people who were not bound by unbreakable oaths to marry idiotic princes.

These days, the library offered him a different kind of reprieve.  Having young children had the tendency to give one a newfound appreciation for silence, and as Loki strode across the tiled floor, he savored the sounds of his footsteps echoing uninterrupted through the thick quiet.

There were a dozen or so scholars from the Royal Academy of Science littered among the tables in the atrium.  They were easily identifiable by the bright yellow sashes belted around their blue tunics.  From their frazzled state, they looked like that had endured a rough night of study.  A few were snoring into their books as Loki walked by.  The ones who were awake enough to recognize him rushed to drop into wobbly bows or curtsies, ducking behind hands and books to cover their yawns.

Loki made his way through their ranks to a door on the far right side.  It bore a worn metal plaque that read:

CHIEF LIBRARIAN’S OFFICE.

Although he was not expected, he turned the knob without knocking.

As Loki predicted, Eymundr was at his desk.  He startled when the door opened, but upon seeing his former pupil, his face split into a wide, welcoming grin.

“My, my.”  He looked Loki over, his pale eyes twinkled behind the silver frames of his glasses.  “Don’t you look lovely today?  Is there going to be a party?”  He gestured toward his grey librarian robes.  “I fear I am wholly under-dressed for such grand company.”

“Don’t make me turn you into a toad,” Loki warned.  It was an empty threat, too full of fondness to bear any menace.  The chilly countenance he so often adopted in public thawed at the sight of his old friend.

When Loki had arrived on Asgard, Eymundr had been among his first set of tutors.  The old man had been the only one of Loki’s teachers who hadn’t treated him like an uncivilized dullard and—hailing from Vanaheim himself—was one of the few who had understood Loki’s struggles to acclimate to Asgardian culture.  A few years ago, when the previous chief librarian retired from his post, Loki had gotten the chance to repay his former teacher’s kindness.  He had lobbied extensively for Eymundr to receive the position even though many had protested that stewardship of the royal collections had never been passed to a non-Asgardian.  Nevertheless, no one could deny Eymundr’s formidable intellect.  The man knew more about the history of the Nine Realms than any of his Asgardian peers.

“What’s that you’re working on?”  Loki approached the desk, upon which laid a large, yellowed scroll.  He was versed in many languages, but the parchment contained a script he had never seen before.  The ink was a livid green with a strange, oily sheen to it.  The individual letters were thin and jagged like each stroke had been scratched out with a knife instead of written by pen.

“Ah, you’re just in time.”  Eymundr stepped aside to allow Loki to have a better look.  “Archives just delivered it to me this morning.  It’s from Svartalfheim.”

“Svartalfheim?”  Loki bent over the scroll, examining the text more intently.  “Then, this was written by the Dark Elves?”

“Yes.  It’s one of the few extant examples of Shadow Speak we have in our possession,” Eymundr explained.

“You can read it?”  Loki asked, amazed.  The Dark Elves had been extinct for thousands of years, their race relegated to the realm of children’s stories.

Eymundr let out a self-effacing chuckle.  “If I could, I would be the most distinguished linguist in all Nine Realms.  No, as much as it pains me to say it, I can’t read a blasted word.  It’s a little side project of mine.  Every once in a while, I feel ambitious and ask Archives to lend it to me so I can have another crack at it.  So far, I’ve managed to figure out a bit of the grammatical logic of the text, but the overall meaning remains incomprehensible.”  He shrugged cheerfully.  “But that’s part of the joy of working with lost languages, isn’t it?  You don’t know whether you’re deciphering a work of literary genius or someone’s recipe for mince pie.”

He adjusted his glasses and said, “Anyway, you didn’t come all this way to help me translate ancient gibberish.  How may I be of service today?”

“I’m looking for books on the Convergence,” Loki said.

“Ah… the Convergence you say?  It’s coming up soon isn’t it?  Good heavens.”  Eymundr stroked his grey beard as he thought.  “Have you taken a look at the Book of Yggdrasil yet?  There’s bound to be something about it in there.”

Loki shook his head.  Asgard’s holiest book was one of the first places he had wanted to look, but he would need Odin’s approval to get his hands on that particular text.  “This is my own private research.  I’d rather not get certain people involved.”

Eymundr gave him a measured look over the rim of his glasses but deigned not to question him further.  “Well, as long as you promise me that your private interests won’t lead to me getting fired, I’m more than willing to help.”

He went to the back wall, which—like every other wall in the room—was lined with shelves upon shelves of books.

“From my recollection, we should have a few books in our holdings that might interest you.  I wouldn’t know them by name, but that’s what we have this for.”

He pulled out a thick, heavy tome.  It was a thoroughly unexceptional-looking book.  The binding was frayed and the leather exterior was cracked and worn from frequent use.  The only distinguishing features it bore were two metal clasps etched with pictures of ivy leaves.

Though it bore no title, Loki recognized the book.  It was the Chief Librarian’s Journal and contained within it the title and location of every book in the library’s extensive collection.

Eymundr removed the set of keys around his neck and unlocked the book.  He flipped it open to an empty page and dabbed his quill in an ink well.  In a fluid, tight cursive script he wrote:

_subject:  convergence  
refine: event_

For a moment, the words stood stark and crisp on the fresh page.  Then, the writing dissolved, sinking into the paper.  New letters were spat out and rearranged themselves into a list of books and their current whereabouts.

“Hm, I thought we had more,” Eymundr muttered.

Loki skimmed the list.  There were only five titles.  He hadn't expected to find much but this was still a disappointingly unpromising start.

"You know, you might have better luck looking in the Archives," Eymundr suggested.  “They’re closed today, but I can talk to the head of their department, if you like.  I’m actually scheduled to have lunch with her this afternoon.”

“I’ll take you up on that offer after I’m done with these.”  Loki reached and tore the page neatly out of the journal.  He held the paper flat in his hand and muttered a short enchantment.  Infused with his magic, the paper began to collapse in on itself, folding, ripping, and crinkling until it sat upon Loki’s palm in the neat shape of a dragonfly.

“I wish you would teach me how to do that,” Eymundr said enviously, watching the paper dragonfly take flight.  It zipped around the room briefly before settling on Loki's shoulder.

“It’s better that I don’t.  We have to leave your assistants something to do,” Loki teased.  Eymundr was notorious for micromanaging and rarely trusted his underlings—much to their chagrin—with anything but the most menial of tasks.

“Oh!  Before you go I have something for you.  Or for the children, I should say.”  Eymundr opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a slim blue book.  He handed it to Loki, who examined the cover curiously.

_The Shadow King and the Glass Crown:  
Legends and Folktales of Vanaheim_

He flipped through a few pages.  The books was filled with rich, brilliant illustrations that--to Loki's surprised delight--had been spelled to move.  On one page, a boat with crimson sails glided across the top margin while dolphins followed in its foamy wake.  On another, an emerald-scaled dragon curled itself around an illuminated rune.  It bared its long fangs at Loki as it puffed out great clouds of grey smoke.

“This is Elov’s work, isn’t it?”  Loki asked.  The Vanir illustrator had passed away recently and Loki had heard that there was a great resurgence of interest in his work among collectors.

“Yes, he was a dear friend of mine,” Eymundr said.  “He donated some copies of his books to the royal collection but left this one in my personal possession.  But I think it’s a bit silly for an old coot like me to have such a lovely story book.  I thought your sons might enjoy it.  It’s one of the few he enchanted in this manner.  I must say, I'm not usually fond of such gimmicks—usually it adds nothing to the content—but with his work, even I must admit that the effect is quite marvelous.”

Loki closed the book reverently.  Such gestures kindness had a tendency to leave him uncomfortably tongue-tied.  And this was far from the first meaningful book that Eymundr had given him.  For Loki’s first birthday on Asgard, his tutor had gifted him with a Jotun codex of magic.  Since few trees grew on the icy realm, most Jotun books were made of a rare type of evergreen that grew in the mountains.  The book Eymundr had given him, with its familiar scent of pine boughs and deep winter, had been a great comfort to Loki during a time plagued by loneliness and homesickness.

Loki gave his friend a genuine smile, the kind he rarely shared with anyone besides his children.  “Thank you.  It’s lovely.  I'm sure my sons will enjoy it.”

Eymundr waved his hands dismissively.  “No need to thank me.  Books are meant to be read.  It would have just gathered dust here if I had kept it.” He settled back into his chair.  “Let me know how your research goes.  And if you need any more help, you know where to find me.”

Loki thanked the old man once again and left the office.  The moment the door closed behind him, the paper dragonfly on his shoulder leaped into the air.  It hovered in front of him for a moment before darting off into the stacks, leaving behind a faint green trail for Loki to follow.

The dragonfly had been enchanted to lead Loki to all five books written upon it, starting with the closest.  The first place it took Loki to was a set of encyclopedias.  It landed on the spine of a volume that contained a small, sparse entry about the Convergence that did not tell Loki anything he had not known before.  Disappointed, he shut the book with an irritated snap and continued his search.

The second book his dragonfly found was an accounting ledger of a merchant on Nidavellir.  His dwarvish was decent, but it still took a while for Loki to make sense of the tight, cramped script.  The dwarf wrote about large tears appearing in the sky “as if someone had poked through the heavens with a fire iron.”  But other than a few hastily jotted notes, he was not very forthcoming on the details.  In fact, he was much more concerned with the three barrels of ale and leg of ham that had disappeared from his larder than the huge portals opening up above him.  Loki closed the book in disgust.  The greed and pettiness of dwarves was truly timeless.

The third book was even less useful.  It wasn't really a book even.  It was a clay tablet covered in wedge-shaped markings Loki could not even begin to understand.  Even so, he took the tablet with him, tucking it into his sleeve.  He would have to bother Eymundr for a translator later.

The fourth book was—to Loki’s surprise and confusion—a volume of raunchy love poems from Alfheim complete with illustrative plates of erotic woodblock prints.  The information it yielded, however, turned out to be quite relevant.  In one of the poems, the author described in flowery, lurid prose a “blue-skinned lover from the heavens” descending on “a night which shone with the stars of nine different skies.” This mysterious blue-skinned stranger with “red eyes that shone lustily” had to have been a wayward Frost Giant.  Loki was doubly sure when the poet mentioned that the visitor’s skin was “smolderingly cold” to the touch.  That, however, did not prevent the writer from fucking the visitor and penning smutty verses about the encounter.  Trust a Light Elf to think with his genitals.

Loki still took the book.  No matter how sordid, the account still provided him with two important observations.  First, that the Convergence made the boundaries between the realms porous enough to allow travel without the Bifrost.  Second, that it wasn't just objects that could pass through the portals, living beings could survive the jump between realms as well.

Both ideas spawned exciting possibilities.  The Aesir took immense pride in the might of their armies and the ferocity of their warriors, but truly, it was the Bifrost that made Asgard the most formidable of the Nine Realms.  Only Asgard had the ability to send entire armies across Yggdrasil, allowing the Aesir to police the actions of other races.  Without the Bifrost, Odin might not have been able to stop Laufey's advance during the last great war.  Laufey had only found his way into Midgard through a pre-existing tear between the realms.  With the energy of Casket, he had been able to widen the breach so his forces could pour through.  However, even an artifact as powerful as it was the Casket could not create a rift where none existed.  If Laufey had been capable of that power, Loki knows his father would have targeted Asgard first and not Midgard.

Currently, Asgard monopolized travel between the realms, but if Loki studied the Convergence perhaps he could find an alternative to the Bifrost.  It was an thrilling prospect: unrestricted access to the entire universe.  Nobody other than the All-Father wielded such power.

Loki stopped in his tracks.  He had been following the trail of his spell but his dragonfly had returned him to the atrium.  It circled the threshold of the library entrance, waiting impatiently for Loki to catch up with it.

Puzzled, he summoned the spell back to him.

“Where are you taking me?” he wondered as the dragonfly alighted in his hands and uncrumpled.  Loki looked over the text and bit his lip when he came to the final item on the list.  He should have read more carefully.

Title: _The Properties of Space and Time_  
Location: Heimdall’s quarters

 

* * *

 

Instead, of going to Heimdall's quarters, Loki paid the Asgardian sentinel a personal visit.

As always, Heimdall was to be found standing watch at the Observatory.

“Your Highness.”  Even as he greeted Loki, his gaze never wavered from the expanse of space spread out before him.  “I was wondering when you might come see me.”

"I didn't know you were expecting me." Loki wasn't too surprised considering how little escaped Heimdall's uncanny sight.

"I have been expecting you since this morning," Heimdall told him.  "There was a disturbance in your room, was there not?"

"You saw that?"  Loki frowned.  "Why didn't you warn anyone?"

"I only turned my gaze upon you when I noticed smoke issuing from your quarters.  I do not usually make it a habit to peer into your bed chambers."  He paused, letting his words sink in.

That was a small relief.  Not that Loki could pretend to have much dignity around the sentinel.  Not with their shared history.

“You have in your possession a book which interests me," Loki said, crossing the observatory.  While Heimdall might not feel the need to look directly at him, it was a little disconcerting for Loki to talk to someone’s backside.

"You seek to know more about the Convergence," Heimdall stated.

Loki did not confirm or deny this.  He deflected with, "What about you?  I've never thought of you as much of a reader.  Why are you so interested in the Convergence?"

"I merely wish to explain what I see," Heimdall said.

Loki looked out into the void.  "You can see it happening?"

To him, the view from the Observatory was no different than usual.  The Asgardian sky was its usual searing blue.  Beyond that, there were fields of stars twinkling weakly among the clouds, waiting for nightfall and their chance to shine.

When Heimdall spoke again, it was in a different voice, an older one tempered by time.  "As the Nine Realms fall into alignment, the fabric of the universe stretches and thins.  In some places, it tears.  Small tears.  Large tears.  Sometimes it knits itself back together.  Sometimes it does not.  Because of these ruptures, much has eluded my watch of late."  He sounded none too pleased to admit this. "Your visitors this morning among them."

He turned and looked at Loki for the first time since his arrival.  "And you?  May I ask why the Convergence interests you so?"

"You may ask and I may feel disinclined to answer," Loki retorted.

Heimdall sighed.  "Why must you derive such joy in vexing me?" 

"I derive joy in vexing everyone." Loki replied haughtily.  "You shouldn't feel special."

At this, Heimdall gave him the barest hint of a smile.  "Well, at least you are honest about that."

Without warning, he inserted his sword into the center of the dais.  The walls of the Observatory started to churn slowly around them.

"Tell me, what is it that you wish to know?" Heimdall asked, joining Loki in front of the portal.

"The book in your quarters.  I need it to--"

"No."  Heimdall was one of the few people bold enough to contradict Loki.  "You did not come all this way to inquire about a book that you could have easily fetched from my chambers."

"I haven't?" Loki asked, purposefully nonchalant.

"Every time Thor goes off-realm, you visit me," Heimdall pointed out.  "This is the third time you have come here since his last departure.  And I do not flatter myself to think that I am whom you seek."

"I have no idea what you're going on about," Loki insisted.

"Right."  From the tone in Heimdall's voice, he was not at all convinced by Loki's feigned indifference.  "Then let me give you the answers to the questions which you refuse to ask."

He narrowed his eyes, fixing his gaze upon some distant spot in the universe.

“Thor is currently in Vanaheim fighting in the mountains," he reported.  "A group of mercenaries have attempted to ambush him.  It does not appear to be going well for them.”

Loki said nothing, retreating into sullen reticence.

“Hmmm, what’s this?”  Heimdall frowned, squinting.  “Some kind of monster has just joined the fray.  It appears to be a manticore.  Yes, that's what it is.  The creature must have been dwelling nearby and drawn to the commotion.  It is attacking Thor now and attempting to bite off his face.”

That sounded about right.  Loki was not the least bit worried.  Thor once killed a hydra armed with nothing but a brass tea kettle.  It would take much more than a manticore to finish off Asgard's golden son.

Heimdall continued narrating the scene unfolding galaxies away.  “He has managed to dodge the manticore's attack and is unleashing the might of Mjolnir on the beast’s head.  His strike rings true.  The creature's death is quick.  Now the villagers in the area are gathering to thank him."

“Ever the conquering hero,” Loki muttered darkly.

“He’s now—”  Heimdall’s lips quirked in an uncharacteristic smile.  “Interesting…”

“What?”  Loki asked, unable to reign in his curiosity.

“He’s asking one of the men for a sword.  He’s using it to saw off the spines on the manticore’s tail.”  Heimdall turned to Loki, his golden eyes radiating amusement.  “You wouldn’t happen to know why, would you?”

Loki refused to feel anything.  He might have mentioned offhandedly to the woman in charge of an apothecary he frequented that his supply of manticore spikes was running low.  How Thor would have found out about this was beyond him.

"He shouldn't bother," Loki said.  "Knowing him, he'll accidentally poison himself."

"You can tell him in person when he returns.  He'll probably be back by tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Loki echoed.  "I thought he was returning some time this afternoon."  It was unlike his handmaids get their information wrong.

"Ah."  Heimdal said slyly.  "Is that why you look so fair today?"

Loki shot him a look that could wither entire forests.

Heimdall explained, "Thor has been helping the villages in the western regions of Vanaheim recover from a recent flood.  The damage is quite severe, and it is taking longer than expected.  Otherwise, I suspect he would have returned much earlier.  He asks often after you and the children."

"Tell him he needn't worry about the children and not to waste his limited mental energy on me," Loki responded snippily.

"If you want a man to think less of you," Heimdall advised, walking back towards the dias, "then perhaps you should aspire to be less beautiful."

A long time ago, such a remark would have flustered Loki.  Heimdall had a infuriating way of passing off flirtation as casual observations.  When he was younger and more naive, Loki had twisted himself in knots trying to decipher the sentinel's words.

Now, he brushes off the comment contemptuously.  "I will be sure to punish my handmaids for doing their job too well."

He drew his cloak around him, readying himself to leave.  "When Thor arrives, tell him not to cause too much of a racket.  If he wakes the children, I will happily allow Agata to have his head."

"Noted," Heimdall said, once again poised upon his pedestal.

"Also, if he is as dirty as he was the last time he came home, he is not to see me unless he has had a proper bath."  Loki was still angry about the tunic that Thor had ruined when he had swept Loki up in a muddy, filthy embrace. 

"I will be sure to relay the message." There was a note of amusement in Heimdall's his voice.

"And concerning the Convergence," Loki added.  "When it draws to its peak, alert me at once so that I will not miss it." 

"When that happens," Heimdall said, his voice strangely ominous.  "You will not need my eyes to know."

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be an AU retelling of Thor: The Dark World. Events from the previous Marvel movies (such as Thor's banishment and the attack on New York) have been altered in this story line.


End file.
